


Level Up

by DangerFloof



Series: A Two Parent, Two Bottles of Wine a Night Job [18]
Category: Bob's Burgers (Cartoon)
Genre: Adulting, Aged-Up Character(s), Drinking, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parties, Reality Stinks, imposter syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:02:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27861994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerFloof/pseuds/DangerFloof
Summary: Louise takes a part-time job at Dusty's Feedbag over Christmas break.  She, Tina, Gene, and Zeke find adulthood more challenging than they expected.Updated every other Thursday.
Relationships: Louise Belcher/Zeke (Bob's Burgers), Tina Belcher/Original Character(s)
Series: A Two Parent, Two Bottles of Wine a Night Job [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1052096
Comments: 41
Kudos: 15





	1. One

“Good morning, everyone!” Barbara Papasian calls with aggressive cheerfulness to the new hires.

The little conference room in the back of Dusty’s Feed Bag also acts as a storage area for boxes of miscellaneous supplies, so they’re squashed almost knee-to-knee in a semi-circle facing their hiring and training manager. Louise, still recovering from finals and running on three hours of sleep thanks to the Pesto twin’s latest party, returns the greeting with a strained, unenthusiastic smile. She had no idea Alex’s mom was the same Barb who called about her application until she showed up for her interview. Though she’ll never admit it, Louise was nervous; with the exception of Mr. Fischoeder, she’s only worked for her parents, and she’s never done a real interview before. But Barb recognized her, Louise poured on the charm, and in the end she wasn’t at all surprised she got the job.

“Welcome to the Dusty’s Feed Bag family! I’ve met all of you,” Barb continues with a warm smile. “But you don’t know each other. Let’s go around the room and introduce ourselves. I’ll go first.”

Louise slinks down a little in her seat. She’d rather scoop out her own eyes with a melon baller than do this “Tell the class about yourself” bullshit. But she also wants experience at other restaurants, to learn how to correct their errors and perfect good ideas gone wrong, so she braces herself to deal with it; it’s just a few weeks over Christmas break, after all. In the notes section of her employee handbook, she writes: _big conference room, no BS_.

“I’m Barbara Papasian, but you already know that. Call me Barb!” Unlike the others, who are wearing official company t-shirts, Barb wears a long-sleeved button-down with Dusty’s logo on the pocket. She runs a hand over her light brown hair and adjusts her glasses. 

“I’ve worked for Dusty’s Feed Bag for over fifteen years. I started as a hostess—just like you, Louise and Hannah! I brought a can-do attitude with me to work every day and look where I am now! This could be you!”

Louise hopes Barb doesn’t go on like this much longer; she’ll draw blood if she keeps biting her lip to keep from laughing. 

“That’s the spirit, Louise!” Barb turns to her. “Here at Dusty’s, we believe in greeting the day with a smile.”

“Well, your story _is_ pretty inspiring.” _It inspires me to drown myself before I become a sad sack like you!_

Louise’s thinly-veiled sarcasm sails over Barb’s head. 

“Why don’t you go first, Louise? Tell us a little about yourself.”

_Crap!_

“Uh, well, I’m Louise Belcher. I’m eighteen, and I’m studying organizational management at the community college. I just finished my first semester, and I made the Dean’s List.”

There’s a pause.

“And what else, Louise? What about your hobbies and interests? Any personal mottos?”

Louise briefly wonders if smoking counts as a hobby. “I like boxing and weightlifting. I have two older siblings.”

“And what do they do?”

Louise can’t help sighing a little; Barb knows exactly what Gene’s up to.

“Tina’s at Cambridge University, studying literature. She recently published some paper through the Jane Austen Society.”

“Oh, how nice!”

Louise’s smile is genuine this time. Does she understand Tina’s analysis of the Bennett family, or how their social-financial state compares to the Dashwood’s? No. Does that stop her from being terribly proud of her big sister? Also no. “Gene’s in New York, he wants to be an actor.”

“Well, that’s just lovely. Who’s next? How about you, Hannah?”

Hannah stands up. “I’m Hannah Finch, and I’m a sophomore at Huxley High. I like cats and knitting and writing poetry. Um…this is my first job.”

_Shocking_ , Louise thinks, watching Hannah, pink-cheeked and impossibly young looking with her blonde French braids, take her seat. 

“And last but not least, Nate.”

“I’m Nate Hu. I’m also a sophomore, but I go to Gethsemane Lutheran. I like video games and movies.”

He grins broadly at Hannah, his dark eyes warm behind his glasses. Hannah blushes under his admiring gaze. 

“And last but not least, we have Brooke Donwell, one of our return waitresses. Tell us about yourself.”

_Wasn’t working here once enough?_ Louise gives Brooke a cool once-over: tall and lean, dainty features, perfectly smooth ponytail of fiery red hair and impeccable eyeliner. Louise takes takes an instant, irrational dislike to her.

“Well, I’m Brooke. I’ve worked here on and off for four years while on breaks. I’m going to graduate from Stockton U this spring with a degree in communications. I-I occasionally model, too.”

“Of course, you do,” Louise mutters under her breath.

Louise wasn’t quiet enough, because Barb turns to her with raised eyebrows. “Yes, Louise?”

“I, uh, have to use the loo. I mean, bathroom. I guess Tina’s Britspeak is rubbing off on me.”

“Britspeak? Wouldn’t that be _English_?” Brooke asks, earning a dirty look from Louise.

Barb notices nothing. “Okay, hurry back, we’re going to start with a video about hygiene.”

“Oh, I will,” Louise assures her with a big, dumb grin.

Barb gave them a tour of the back area already, so Louise knows where the employee restrooms are. She passes the manager’s office, a long row of half-lockers, and is just approaching the women’s room when Zeke exits the men’s room next door. His face lights up at the sight of her.

“Hey, howzit goin’, bab—Louise?”

“There’s no one around, Zeke.”

Zeke shakes his head. “We’re still on the clock.”

Louise rolls her eyes. Zeke told her before that they shouldn’t indulge in PDAs at work.

_“But I don’t report to you,” Louise protested the first time he said it, not because she can’t go two seconds without touching her boyfriend, but because she hates being told no._

_“I’m still management. It ain’t professional, hangin’ onta staff.”_

_“I wasn’t planning to hang on to your staff,” she chuckled darkly._

Standing tantalizingly close to him in the hallway, Louise lifts her chin and gives Zeke the haughty, critical once-over that always arouses and challenges him. “Fine, be like that. But I can say no too.”

“Mm-hum. I got ways ta change yer mind.”

She crosses her arms. She won’t make the first move—no, she won’t kiss him, she’ll tease him until _he_ kisses _her_ , and her victory will be complete. His eyes sparkle with desire, and he might have broken his own rule had Brooke not rounded the corner at that moment. Zeke takes a quick step back.

She barely acknowledges Louise’s presence before she turns to Zeke with an irritatingly bright smile. “Hi, I’m Brooke.”

“Hey Brooke, I’m Zeke. Yer one of the new hires, yeah?”

“Mm,” she hums, assessing his muscly arms with appreciative eyes. “Re-hire. I’m a waitress—I’ve worked here on and off for four years.”

“Well, that explains why I ain’t seen ya before; I was jus’ hired on a few months ago. I’m a chef.”

“ _Head_ Chef,” Louise interjects, unable to remain quiet while Brooke—whom Louise now realizes is only a hair shorter than herself—stands there with her perfect smile and shiny hair and big boobs and flirts with Zeke.

“Well yeah, Head Chef, if ya wanna be technical ‘bout it.”

Louise shoots him the look of death.

Brooke doesn’t even glance at her. “I—I gotta ask. Are you from Alabama by any chance?”

Zeke flashes her the bright, goofy grin that Louise suddenly decides should be reserved exclusively for her. “Yes, ma’am!”

“I thought so! You sound just like my Meemaw Tootsie!”

“Well, hot damn! Where’re yer people from?”

“Tuskegee.”

“I’m from Montgomery!”

Louise’s nostrils flare; Barb doesn’t know it, but she prevents a homicide by arriving at just that moment.

“ _There_ you two are! Since half the class needed a biobreak I thought we’d just take a fifteen.”

“Sorry, Barb.” Brooke gestures to the women’s room. “I’ll be right back.”

“Yeah, I’m good to go. Wouldn’t want to miss that hygiene film!” Louise flashes Zeke the angriest look she can manage.

Barb doesn’t notice. “Oh, you really don’t. The part about handwashing is fascinating.”

“I bet it is,” Louise grins. 

Zeke watches blankly as Brooke dips into the bathroom, and Barb and his inexplicably furious girlfriend head back to the conference room. _Do the huh-whut?_

* * * * *

After watching three equally stupid, boring, and unhelpful films, filling out a _ton_ of paperwork, and learning phone etiquette, it’s finally time for lunch. Louise, who skipped breakfast because she was running late, is thrilled, especially since lunch is on the house.

“Now remember, from here on out your meals are discounted, not free,” Barb calls cheerfully as she hands out to-go boxes.

Louise opens hers and her mouth twitches with a wry smile. Zeke clearly recognized her order, since he’s made it so often for her, and he drew a smiley face on the interior of the lid; he always draws the right eye a bit bigger than the left, for some reason.

Nate half-raises his hand, school habits being hard to break. “How much is our discount?”

“Ten percent.”

Louise does a double-take; she was _sure_ the discount was fifty percent! “Uh, but that isn’t across the board, right? I mean, you get more if you’re full-time, or have worked here longer.”

“No,” Brooke says between irritatingly dainty bites. “It’s the same for everyone.”

Louise ignores her and turns expectantly to Barb.

“You’re right, Brooke, everyone—store manager to new hires—gets ten percent off except during employee appreciation week, when it’s fifteen percent!”

“Wow, fifteen percent,” Louise drawls.

“It really _is_ generous,” Barb says, gesturing with a French fry. “And we get free shirts and sundaes.”

Hannah wipes her mouth, unaware she has a smudge of barbeque sauce on her chin. “That’s cool. When is it?”

“Oh, it’s in late July or early August.”

Louise tunes out the rest of the conversation. Only ten percent! She frowns a little at her sandwich; Zeke’s made dozens of meals like this for her, and she never seriously questioned how much they cost. 

_“Aw, don’t worry about it, babygirl,” he waved away her concerns the one time she brought it up. “It’s practically nuthin’, an’ I like cookin’ fer ya.”_

Hum…at full price, this meal is $13.99…with ten percent off that’s about…holy crap, that’s like, $12.50 per meal! And he makes it a couple times a week for her, sometimes more, so that’s…that’s about $100 a month on food just for her!

* * * * *

Orientation lets out an hour before Zeke is due off work and he’s her ride, so Louise sits in the dining area with her employee manual and her phone to kill time. She tries to focus on managing her family’s social media accounts, but gives up after a few minutes.

She’s never considered before how much money Zeke spends on her. She discounts holiday and birthday gifts—those are for special occasions—but the other stuff! So pleased by the little presents he regularly showers her with, Louise never thought about the cost, and now…

Her stomach twists uncomfortably. She watches a group of servers in the near-empty restaurant practicing line dancing to some country-rock hybrid. In addition to spending almost a Benjamin on extra food each month, Zeke insists on paying for practically all their dates, and he’s always surprising her with little treats. From the leather backpack late this summer, to a couple pairs of wool socks just last week, he’s regularly fed her a steady diet of presents, and now she feels overfull. Oh, the gifts themselves are great—obviously he has good taste, he’s with her—but it strikes Louise as just too much. But how can she tell him that? How do you tell someone to stop doing so much for you, especially when part of you likes it?


	2. TWO

Louise opens the back entrance to Dusty’s, and is blasted by a gust of cold, dry December air. Griping her cigarette case tightly in her coat pocket, she hurries over to the dumpsters. Security cameras keep an eye on the outside of the store, but there’s still a tiny little blind spot in the far corner, just big enough for one person—two at the most, if they’re thin and friendly—to spark up. She’s been at work two hours, which is painful enough, and the day started with Brooke crying to Barb because Louise accidentally left her lunch bag in the crew refrigerator for three days.

Someone is in her spot! _Fuck! It figures._

But irritation is followed swiftly by relief when she sees who it is. A skinny man about a half-foot shorter than Louise nods in greeting when he sees her. She’d rather be by herself at the moment, but, if she can’t be by herself—or vent to Zeke, who’s currently deep in the weeds with a steak fries shortage and two employee call-outs—she guesses Jim will do.

“Hey,” he says, and passes her the little nub of a joint.

“Hey.”

They’ve struck up an odd friendship. He’s pretty old—she’s sure he’s over forty—and rumor has it he regularly rolls into work directly from one of the casinos. He’s a cynical, grizzled company lifer: he’s been with Dusty’s ten years, and will probably be there ten more, at least. Zeke assured Louise early on that Jim is cool, so she didn’t hesitate to nibble the bit of brownie he offered her a few days ago.

Louise exhales a steady stream of smoke and tension into the air. “I got another in my pocket.”

“Nah, I’m good. You keep the roach, if you want.”

She does, popping out the cherry and carefully tucking the end into her case, planning to add it to her collection; it grosses Zeke out, but, with a little honey, she can make tolerably drinkable cannabis tea.

“So, I hear you’re the lunchroom menace,” he chuckles.

“God, I forgot to bring home my leftovers _one time_! I picked them up my next shift! What was I supposed to do, make a special trip here for it?”

Jim chuckles. “Yeah, that Brooke is a stickler for rules, and she sure seems to have it in for you. How’d you get out of trouble? That’s one of Barb’s pet peeves.”

Louise’s eyes glimmer wickedly as she pastes a wide-eyed and innocent expression on her face. “Well Barb, I got my bag first thing on my next shift, and there wasn’t a sign on the door telling me about the 24-hour rule.”

“She bought that?”

“I know, right?”

* * * * *

Louise hangs up her coat and makes her way to the employee drink station for a gulp of water. She can observe the chaos of the kitchen from that point. Nate hurries past her, his brow damp, weighed down by a lugger of dirty dishes. Zeke tosses a giant bowl of broccoli with olive oil and garlic while calling out orders to Jim, who is back at his station at the grill putting sear marks on chicken breasts. The air is warm, full of delicious smells, casual cursing, and Ozzy Osborne is on the radio singing about children of the grave.

God, what she wouldn’t give to be back here, away from customers, cussing and joking, sharing occasional smiles with Zeke. He’s in his element in the kitchen, his confidence and quiet authority so sexy Louise can’t blame one of the other cooks for checking him out as she passes behind him.

_That’s mine._ A smirk tugs her mouth upwards.

Barb rounds the corner, and her face brightens at the sight of Louise. 

“Back from break, then?”

Louise is hit with a brilliant idea. “Hey Barb, I know they’re swamped back here—throw me in! Zeke and I worked together really well when he worked at my parent’s restaurant, we’ll pull this place together in no time.”

It’s all true; Bob often marveled how well the two of them, for all their shouting and play-fighting, operated as a team. Louise is sure she and Zeke could easily put things back to rights.

“I love your proactive approach,” Barb begins enthusiastically, raising Louise’s hopes. “But I need you out front.”

_Damn!_

Hopes dashed, she lines up behind Nate to wash her hands and ruminate over the unfairness of the situation. She could prep the pants off at least half the back-of-house staff! Hell, look at Sylvie over there, just waving a knife around and hacking those carrots to bits!

Nate turns slightly and spots Louise behind him. “Oh, hi Louise.”

He rinses his hands, and she expects him to grab a paper towel and dry off as he walks away, but he just hangs around as she takes her turn, chit-chatting about the rush, asking how she and Hannah are holding up…it’s all pointless babble, especially irritating after being shot down by Barb.

“What do you want?” Her tone resigned but not hostile, she glances at him with an arched brow.

“Oh! Uh, just, you know…making conversation. Um, I mean, you and Hannah talk a lot—”

Louise’s knowing grin makes him break off with a blush.

“Uh-huh. And you want to talk to me too?”

He turns deep crimson and rubs a hand over the back of his neck. 

Louise cackles: damn, he’s fun to fuck with! “What are you trying to ask me, Nate.”

Uncertain of where he stands, but knowing Louise is the best source of information, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Has—did—has Hannah talked about a boyfriend?”

Louise rinses off the soap. She wondered when he would stop staring and actually make a move. Not that this is much of a move, but it’s _something_. “No, she’s single.”

“Good, good—I mean, ok.”

She tears off a strip of paper towel and begins drying her hands. “Okay then.”

Louise begins walking away. Nate catches up to her. “And has she, you know, mentioned me, or anyone, or—”

She stops to look at him. “Look, you two need to talk to each other. If you want to ask her out, just do it already, jeez.”

Louise hates being called upon to play matchmaker, and finds this whole adolescent game of like-like irritating—she always has. But they’re both such earnest, sweet kids she can’t be mean. Nate reminds her a bit of Rudy, now that she thinks of it.

“New Year’s is coming up. Find a party. Ask her to it. But don’t ask me to pass notes,” she adds with a laugh as she speeds past him and out the door to the dining area.

* * * * *

Louise is back at her station all of ten minutes when the doors swing open and admit the worst of all customers. Karen with the ombre hair, sunglasses still on in the building, pushes a long double-stroller carrying twin toddlers to the hostess desk. The oldest child, perhaps six, dances around her screeching for attention. An infant half-heartedly whines on her hip.

“I need a table for one adult and four children,” she says, a bite of impatience in her voice.

Hannah’s on the phone taking a call-in order, which Louise would ordinarily appreciate because she hates talking on the phone, but now Louise has no other choice but to take on this Karen herself. Well, she’s obviously a demanding asshole and likely a shitty tipper, just the sort who makes customer service a living hell; Louise marks off a table in Brooke’s section on the floor plan.

“How many booster seats and high chairs would you like, ma’am?” Louise always makes a point of calling problem customers ma’am or sir. Sometimes it calms them down, because they feel like they’re being treated with great respect. Other times, it winds them up further, because they can sense Louise’s attitude, but can’t really pinpoint something to complain about. Either way, it amuses her.

The question sets off the oldest child, who immediately stops wailing that he wants to be held like the baby, and goes off into a new tangent. “I don’t want a booster seat! I don’t want a booster seat! I’m a big boy!”

“Yes, sweetie, you are. Could you please be quiet while Mommy talks to the hostess?”

Karen pushes her sunglasses to the top of her head and shoots Louise a filthy look. “Three boosters, one high chair. And could you hurry it up? Please-and-thank-you.”

Louise pulls herself up tall and cocks an eyebrow. “Hurry it up. Sure, ma’am.”

Louise Belcher won a gold medal in the Procrastination Olympics before she was nine years old, and she’s perfected her technique over the years. She knows how to pace herself, how to calibrate her speed so she’s moving _just_ slowly enough to irritate, yet fast enough that nobody can call her out on obvious dilly-dallying.

Ignoring the glaring and huffing and puffing from Karen and the irritated wailing of her children, Louise stacks three booster seats on a high chair and lifts the stack. It’s heavy—she’s glad she’s not going far—but she maintains eye contact with Karen as she does it. 

Louise leads them in the loudest, most obnoxious parade through the dining area. She sets down the high chair and distributes the booster seats. “I’ll get your—”

“Well, what about our menus?”

“Yes, ma’am, as I was saying, I’ll get your menus. Anything else?”

The infant is whimpering now and pulling at Karen’s shirt, while the oldest child leads his younger brothers in a chorus of “No booster seat! No booster seat!”

“Jayden! Kayden! Connor! Please stop shouting, sweeties.”

Karen turns to Louise and gestures to the children’s seats. “Well? Aren’t you going to wipe these things down? They’re filthy!”

Louise knows for a fact that they’re perfectly clean—she wiped them herself just an hour ago. She also knows there’s no point in telling Karen that. Moreover, Louise sees another way to wind Karen up; if she thinks Louise was slow in showing them to their seat…

“Sure, I’ll be right back.”

By the time Louise makes it back with cleaning rags, spray bottle, and menus, Brooke has already made it to the table and is just finishing wiping down the high chair.

“Well! It’s about time,” Karen mutters, plopping the child down and tightening the seatbelt.

Louise and Brooke exchange a look; truly, this is a case of the enemy of my enemy is my ally.

Brooke smiles brightly and keeps Karen distracted by a stream of chatter as she and Louise wipe down the already clean booster seats, so they’re damp and ready to be farted on and smeared with ketchup and spit. Louise has to admit, Brooke has a great professional facade, friendly expression, cheerful tone of voice; you’d never know she’s the same idiot who griped about a lunch bag just a few hours ago.

Louise gathers up the bottle and dirty rags. “Would you like anything else, ma’am?”

Karen keeps her gaze on Brooke. “No, _she_ can help me from here.”

Louise doesn’t bother trying to hide her eye-roll as she marches back into the kitchen to toss the used rags in the basket and refill her spray bottle. God, if only this happened at her parent’s place—the things she’d say! As it is, Louise takes a quick drink of water, reminding herself that bitch isn’t worth losing her job over… _Fucking condescending…who does she think she is…not my fault she squirted out more much crotch fruit than she can handle…_

Louise is so focused on growling to herself she almost smacks into Brooke at the drink machine on her way back to her station.

“Oh!” Brooke offers her an uncomfortable twitch of a smile as she fills a glass. “Hey, you were fine. Don’t let people like that get you down. Their behavior is a reflection on them, not you.”

Had Louise been in a better mood she might have accepted the peace offering, or at least been able to declare a truce. As it is, she interpreted it in the worst way possible.

“Yeah, I know,” Louise says flatly, her eyes narrowed. “I’ve delt with people like her for years at my parent’s restaurant.”

“Well, excuse--!”

But Louise doesn’t stand around to hear the rest. Louise Belcher knows everything there is to know about customer service, she doesn’t need to be “educated” by Little Miss Perfect, who probably thinks anything short of squirting her family’s servants with acid is polite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this went up late. Naturally, I figured out *Tuesday* that I needed a different chapter two.


	3. THREE

Linda looks up from a sea of wrapping paper and ribbons as her youngest daughter slowly clomps up the apartment stairs. 

“Aw, honey, you look exhausted. Do you want some cocoa? Or wine? Or cocoa-wine?”

Louise flops dramatically onto the couch. She removed her snow-caked boots on the landing below, and her stockinged feet fly out as she lands on the cushions, almost kicking over the big tub of Christmas wrapping supplies. 

“Cocoa would be amazing. I’ve been freakin’ _freezing_ all day!”

Linda picks herself off the floor and stretches her back. She drains the last of her wine—she’s greatly reduced her drinking, but even her cardiologist is okay with an occasional glass, and it’s _Christmas_ , or close enough. “How many marshmallows, honey?”

“I don’t know. The whole bag?”

Linda does a double-take. Louise tries very hard to keep her sweet-tooth in check, so if she’s not counting the marshmallows…

“Bad day?”

“ _Ugh!_ I’m gonna change, okay?”

Her parents reverted her old childhood bedroom back into a closet, and Gene’s room somehow still has a whiff of farts about it, so she opts to change in the room first used by Tina, then herself. After Louise moved out, she and Zeke helped her father move Tina’s furniture back in—which effectively meant, she and Zeke did all the heavy lifting, while Bob moved the lamps and desk chair. The room is basically another storage closet, this one filled with crap Tina insists she’ll take with her once she finishes her degree and finds a permanent home. Looking at the boxes and boxes of novels, erotic friend fictions, toys, and old clothes makes Louise’s arms ache; she knows Tina will never claim this garbage, and she, Louise, will end up tossing it all in the dumpsters after their parents die and she has to clean out the apartment. The air is heavy and stale, and Louise would love to crack open the window, but she’s still so cold she needs to psyche herself up just to take off her damn coat.

Louise opens one of the dresser drawers and sighs with relief—she _did_ remember to bring over her new sweater! Her main base of operations is the apartment she shares with Daniel, but she also has stuff at Zeke’s place, and stuff at her parent’s place, and frankly, she’s reaching a point where she can scarcely remember where anything is anymore. She frowns at the grey cashmere cardigan Zeke bought her as an end of semester gift. It’s beautiful, so light yet warm and cozy, fashionably cropped, and the sleeves are actually long enough for her; for the first time, however, she pauses to wonder how much it cost. 

She clutches the lapels of her coat, unable to believe she’s contemplating taking it off, after spending the past six hours desperately wishing she could put it back on. The hostess station is directly in front of the door, which means she was blasted with icy December air every time a customer—or _Guest_ , as Barb insists they call them—entered Dusty’s. The vent over her and Hannah’s heads half-heartedly wheezed dry, toasty air on them, which did little to help, in Louise’s opinion. After the first fifteen minutes Louise, shivering in her work t-shirt and the silk undershirt Zeke gave her along with the sweater, excused herself to use the bathroom and came back wearing her coat—buttons open, so the stupid _Guests_ could see her stupid Dusty’s logo—and her nametag pinned to the lapel. She thought it was a reasonable compromise, and nobody complained, not even the sour-faced Karens who were clearly put out with having to coral their children while waiting their turns in the vestibule. Naturally Little Miss Perfect had to ruin it all.

_Brooke rounded the corner, her full red lips flattened into a tight line, clutching a handful of menus. “You guys need to collect—what are you wearing?”_

_Louise raised her eyebrows. “What are you wearing?”_

_Hannah, who was idly sweeping up nothing to pass the time between customers, made an uncomfortable sound in her throat as she glanced between the two glaring women. Louise didn’t care; Brooke’s just a peer, she’s no one important._

_“You can’t wear anything over your uniform shirt, it’s a rule,” Brooke sighed, speaking slowly, as if Louise were a half-wit._

_Louise shrugged and gestured to table four, where one of the guests was clicking his fingers in an attempt to get Brooke’s attention._

_Brooke rolled her eyes before turning back to her guests with a fake, cheery smile._

_Hannah turned to Louise. “Do you think you’ll get in trouble?”_

_Louise’s grin was broad and vaguely predatory. “Oh, I hope she tries to get me in trouble.”_

_A few minutes later, Barb popped up, a tub of dirty dishes in her hands—it was the tail end of lunch rush, and Barb always made a point of helping out during rushes. She passed off the tub to Hannah._

_“Hannah, could you please bus tables four, five, and twelve?”_

_“Sure!”_

_Louise internally rolled her eyes; Hannah was always so eager to do extra work! Why, Louise couldn’t understand—they’re hourly, after all, it’s not like they’re paid more money to work harder._

_Knowing her boss would find something tedious and unpleasant for her to do if she didn’t look busy, Louise grabbed the menus Hannah just finished wiping down. She picked up a spray bottle and a cleaning cloth. “How’s it going, Barb?”_

_“Oh, just fine, Louise, but I wanted to let you know, we can’t wear any clothing over our uniform shirts.”_

_“But Barb, it’s freezing here!”_

_“I know, that’s why I’m wearing a turtleneck under mine,” Barb said, pointing to the red neckline peeping out from the collar of her Dusty’s button-down._

_“Well, I’m wearing one too, and I’m still cold. I mean, my coat’s open so you can see the logo, and my nametag’s in plain view.”_

_“I’m sorry, Louise, but rules are rules. I should’ve explained it to you earlier.”_

_So Louise stomped back to the lockers to drop off her coat, muttering darkly to herself. She caught Little Miss Perfect watching her out of the corner of her eye, a victorious little smirk tucked in the corner of her mouth, and Louise instantly leapt from dislike to hatred. Oh, she’ll show that snobbish little narc!_

Standing in her old bedroom, Louise slams the dresser drawer shut. Brooke has _no_ idea who the hell she’s messing with! Little Miss Perfect…she’s probably some overprivileged little rich bitch working at Dusty’s for “life experience” or whatever. Of course, Louise doesn’t need-need to work at Dusty’s either—she pushes the doubt aside. Brooke probably has a free ride through college; she looks like the type who runs to daddy for everything. Unlike Louise, who’s worked practically since she was potty trained and is paying her own way through school, thank you very much. (Okay, she has some scholarships, but they cover only about a third of the costs, she had to write a bunch of essays to get them, and their continuation is contingent on her maintaining her GPA, so, as far as Louise is concerned, she’s earning that coin too.)

* * * * *

Louise helps her mother make dinner, which basically means Louise cooks, while Linda keeps her daughter entertained with a steady stream of chatter. The kitchen smells delicious; Linda bought a pre-cooked chicken earlier in the day, and Louise is reasonably sure she can reheat it without drying it out.

“Did I show you what Tina sent us?” Linda coos, opening a large, slightly squashed box with international markings stamped all over it.

Keeping a careful eye on the almonds she’s toasting to toss with the green beans, Louise watches her mother pull out all the Christmas goodies.

“Now, we can’t dive in until Christmas morning,” Linda warns her daughter firmly. 

Tina is apparently a fan of Tesco’s. A box cheese thins is followed by two Mcvities Jamaica ginger cakes and a packet of mince pies. Louise’s eyes sparkle with anticipation at the sight of all the Cadbury candies, none of which she’s tried before, especially the orange buttons. Finally, Linda pulls out a large package of Christmas crackers, a set of six tubes printed with Santa—no, _Father Christmas_ , they’re British, after all.

Linda holds the crackers close to her face to read the fine print (she adamantly denies she needs bifocals). “Don’t they look _fun_? So exotic!”

Louise opens the salad kit and begins assembling it, tossing the creamy, artery-clogging dressing in the trash. Bob keeps a bottle of olive oil vinegarette in the fridge, and she sets it on the counter. 

“I love your sweater,” Linda says. “It looks cozy.”

“It is,” Louise agrees. She thinks for a moment; she’s not one to ask for advice in general, especially from her mother. Louise doesn’t want to confide in anyone in her family; after all the drama regarding herself and Zeke, it’s important to Louise that their relationship looks perfect. But…maybe, if she’s subtle, she can glean some advice. “Zeke bought it for me as an end of semester present, and--”

“Oh, isn’t that sweet! He’s so good to you. Enjoy it while you can—your father bought me a new hairbrush for Valentine’s Day last year.”

“Well, it _was_ a Mason Pearson,” Louise points out a little defensively, because she helped her father navigate the website to buy it. Sure, it was stupid expensive, but the family can afford occasional treats like that now.

“Yes, and it was nice, but it was a _hair brush_. For _Valentine’s Day_.”

Louise sighs; Linda will never understand how she feels. Hell, Louise can barely articulate it to herself. Why did she even bother?

Her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the front door opening downstairs. “Lin? We’re here.”

“Oh Bobby, you’re just in time, we’ve almost finished cooking dinner.”

“Who’s this _we_ , woman?”

“Hush your mouth,” Linda smiles as she begins to set the table.

After removing their snowy boots, three men climb the stairs. First Bob, tired but happy to see his wife and daughter waiting for him. Next is Zeke, his eyes brightening at the sight of his girlfriend, and they exchange nose crinkles. A bit behind the others, his gaze on his pale blue socks, Daniel, the evening’s cashier, brings up the rear.

Zeke gives Louise a chaste peck on the cheek and immediately takes over the cooking. Ordinarily Louise wouldn’t mind, but tonight it strikes her as pushy and presumptive. Instead of sitting at her spot at the table and calling out orders as she usually does, she glowers at him and pointedly stands her ground.

“Everythin’ okay, darlin’?” Zeke asks quietly, Linda’s honking laughter providing cover.

“Yeah,” Louise grunts. She doesn’t want to be bitchy with Zeke, but she can feel the irritation, vague and unvocalized, worming its way under her skin.

Louise gives herself a little shake and smiles encouragingly at Daniel, who grins back. Bob and Linda host dinner for “the kids” at least once a week, and Louise knows Daniel, ever anxious, still isn’t quite convinced he’s welcome.

_“Trust me, they wouldn’t invite you if they didn’t like you,” she assured him the first time he was invited._

_“But isn’t it…weird? I mean, they’re my bosses.”_

_Louise pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “Look, I think they’re…well, I think they’re feeling the empty nest, you know? They really like you, you shy idiot.”_

Zeke interrupts her train of thought; she doesn’t know it, but he’s been trying to catch her eye for a while. He places a broad hand on the small of her back. “How you doin’, honey?”

She twists away from him with a glower. “ _Great_.”

* * * * *

Zeke stomps into his living room followed closely by Louise, who slams the door behind her. First his coat, then hers, flies into a corner. 

“Don’t do that!” Zeke growls as he wrestles with his boot laces.

Louise kicks her right boot into the boot tray. “Don’t do what? Close the damn door?”

“Don’t slam the damn door!”

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

“I wouldn’t haveta if you’d act right!”

“Oh! Oh!” Louise hobbles up to him wearing one boot, her arms spread wide in a challenging gesture. “Now you’re telling me how to act! Who the _hell_ do you think you are?”

Zeke’s second boot skids across the floor and bumps into the wall. “I’m yer boyfriend, an’ I don’t deserve ta be snapped at all fuckin’ night fer no reason!”

Louise throws her left boot to the ground. “Then stop fucking irritating me all night!”

They’re toe-to-toe. Louise draws herself up as tall as she can, all but sneering down at him. Zeke, unfazed, glowers up at her, a brick wall of seething anger.

“If I _knew_ what was wrong I’d fix it, but I reckon yer just bein’ bitchy fer the hell of it.”

She leans down and bellows in his face, “ _Don’t you call me a bitch!_ ”

Zeke lifts his chin, his heavy jaw twitching. “I didn’t _call_ ya a bitch, I said yer bein’ _bitchy_ , there’s a difference!”

By this point they’re panting in each other’s faces. Louise knows she’s being completely irrational and immature--and yes, _bitchy_ \--and the knowledge makes her even angrier, but she’s too far in to back down now. Still, a thread of excitement coils through her; Zeke goes into pure alpha maleness when he’s furious, and it’s sexy as _fuck_.

Zeke notes the glimmer in her eyes as they flicker over him, her parted lips, and… _damn_ _it_ , Louise Belcher is pure fire when she’s enraged, and he sure likes a fiery gal. 

“That’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” His voice is a low, angry rumble, and he shifts his weight forward, his nose almost bumping hers.

Louise fumbles with her belt. “That’s all you think about! Sex, sex, s--!”

She doesn’t even see his hand move. He grabs her wrist and spins her around, her arm pinned behind her back. He pushes her forward and her feet stumble over each other, slipping on the floor, until he pushes her, half-bent over, into the back of the couch.

He keeps her arm pinned, and unbuckles his own belt. “Shut up and drop them jeans.”

Louise glares over her shoulder at him. Zeke releases her wrist, and Louise responds by gripping the couch with both hands and grinding her ass against his crotch. “You’re fucking _sick_ , you know that, right?”

He shoves her hair to the side and nips her bare neck hard. Louise emits a long, wanton cry and grips the couch for support as her knees buckle.

Zeke chuckles in her ear, his voice a deep rasp that makes her shiver. “That’s right, baby. I’m sick fer ya. Now drop them damn jeans before I tear ‘em off of ya.”

* * * * *

Wearing his jeans and nothing else, Zeke enters his living room, takes one look at Louise, and smirks, proud of his work. She’s naked from the waist down and sprawled negligently on the couch where he left her, radiating post-coital glow. He hands her a glass of water and tosses her a towel. He fumbles his thermal shirt over his head; the apartment is too cold to stay half-dressed for long. Zeke picks her coat off the floor and tucks it around her nude thighs and sits next to her, cuddling her tight as she slurps down the water.

“Feel better, baby?”

“Mm-hum.”

Zeke doesn’t know why, but sometimes Louise gets in these short, snippy moods for no discernable reason, and the only cure is to pound the sense back into her. He’s dimly concerned that, as amazing as the sex is, it’s probably not healthy or sustainable in the long-term, but he’s also not motivated to find an alternative, either. She needs it, it works for both of them, and hey, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, right?

She nestles against him; Louise is always a cuddle-bug after sex, especially angry sex. Apologetic and sexually satiated, she’s as sweet now as she was sour earlier.

“So, you gonna tell me what crawled up ya an’ died?”

Louise giggles softly and kisses his neck. Her calves are chilly, and she folds her long legs under her, blanketing them with her coat as best she can. She’s still vaguely dissatisfied with the idea that he’s spent so much money on her, but it doesn’t seem very important now; she doesn’t ask him for stuff, and he isn’t spending money he doesn’t have, either. What a silly thing to worry about! Does she want to be like her mother, trying to get excited about getting a _hairbrush_ as a present? And Louise _deserves_ to be treated like a queen!

“Today was just… _ugh_.”

“Ya pecked at me fer almost two solid hours ‘cause today was _ugh_?” Zeke gives her a little shake. “Come on, babygirl, you can do better’n that.”

Louise sighs and tells him about her encounter with Brooke, shamelessly embellishing it as she vents. It’s so stupid, so unfair, and Brooke was such a buttinski, and why did Barb take her side? Why couldn’t she make an exception? It’s freaking _cold_ outside, and it’s not like Louise was covering up her stupid t-shirt and nametag!

Zeke listens carefully, trying to decide how to pick his way through this mine field. Louise doesn’t realize it yet, but Dusty’s—like every other restaurant he’s worked at—is as full of gossip hounds as it is alcoholics and stoners; he heard about their argument within fifteen minutes of it happening. At the time, being a supervisor on the clock, he adopted a professional stance; he listened and parroted back company policy without voicing an opinion. But now he’s home, and he can just be Zeke, Louise’s boyfriend. How can he tell Louise she was wrong, that her stubborn feistiness—as charming as it is—doesn’t translate well in the work world? At her parent’s restaurant, she’s an important leader, almost ranking with Bob and Linda, loud and in charge, with a wide scope of responsibilities and correspondingly broad allowances made for her behavior. At Dusty’s, she’s just a low-ranking cog in a corporate machine, where rampant individuality scares people.

“Well, honey,” he begins slowly, “I know it seems dumb, but that’s a chain restaurant fer ya. Ya wanted to broaden yer horizons, I reckon ya learned to add winter wear to yer list of—wait a minute!”

He pats her shoulder and Louise sits up, frowning in confusion.

“Stay right here,” he tells her.

Louise watches him enter his bedroom. She braces herself and, at the count of three, throws off her coat; after a quick bathroom run, she scampers around the living room, locating and pulling on her underwear and jeans. She’s fixing her fly when Zeke comes back in holding a yellow sweatshirt.

“I told ya to stay.”

Louise shrugs. “I may be a bitch, but I’m not a dog.”

“I ain’t touchin’ that one, but here ya go.”

He tosses her the sweatshirt. She catches it—barely—by the sleeve, and holds it up. It has the Dusty’s logo splashed on the front.

“We got ‘em fer employee appreciation week. I just wear a chef’s coat, so I don’t need it.”

Louise fingers the material. It’s actually nice, as far as corporate swag goes; washed but unworn, the sweatshirt is thick and soft, perfect for winter, with more than enough room for layering. “Why didn’t they give us these in the first damn place?”

“Well, I reckon sweatshirts are expensive, and yer a seasonal hire.”

“Assholes,” Louise mutters, before flashing him the slightly manic grin that melts his heart. “Thank you.”

“Yer welcome, baby,” he purrs, mentally congratulating himself for fixing the problem without angering her. Zeke cups her cheek in his big wide hand and kisses her gently. “Now, why don’t we go on ta bed?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a great and safe New Year!


	4. FOUR

Shivering against the brisk December breeze, Louise knocks on the back door to Dreamy Skies dispensary. Jackie swings the door open almost before Louise drops her hand to her side.

“Well, come on in, girl,” Jackie laughs, embracing Louise in a rough hug.

Mudflap, Louise, Big Red, Jane, and Jackie try to get together at Dreamy Skies at least twice a month for lunch. Already Louise can catch a whiff of pizza through the overwhelming weedy smell that permeates the entire place. They thread their way through shelving units full of bags, printer tape, boxes, swag, and paraphernalia, and make it to the breakroom. The others are already filling their plates.

Jane runs over and gives her a hug, her blonde curls bouncing on her shoulders. “I’m so glad you could make it! When you texted and said you were running late—”

“We were hit with a huge rush, and Dad practically had a crap attack,” Louise says, trying not to sniff the air too obviously; she’s _starving!_ “And the delivery guy was late, so I had to stay and haul all that crap down to the basement.”

Jane nods. “I hardly get to see you anymore, I’m glad you’re here.”

“Yeah, me too,” Louise says with a little smile. With Jane working nights as a nurse at Elegant Doily Retirement Home, and Louise in school and working, the women don’t see each other very often.

Big Red, so called because of her wild mop of fire-engine red hair, waves. “I brought the goods! You got the cash?”

“Yeah,” Louise says, filling her plate with salad, but no pizza. The Pesto twins are in San Francisco visiting Saffie and Daffie, and Louise refuses to eat pizza from their restaurant unless it’s baked by Andy and Ollie. The salad, clearly a Jocelyn original (no way Mr. Pesto would voluntarily use radicchio) is likely a better choice if she’s going to wear anything Big Red has in the Fresh Feed bag next to her purse—Louise doesn’t want to try on any of _that_ while gestating a sizable food baby.

They push together the two tables and sit down, Mudflap on one side of Louise, Jane and Jackie on the other, with Big Red directly across from her. 

“Are you sure you don’t want some salad, babe?” Jane asks her wife, her tone cheerful but cautious, the voice of a woman expecting to be snapped at.

“Nah, sugar, I’m fine.” Jackie takes a big bite of pepperoni pizza.

“But—you’ve had such bad indigestion, and the folates—”

“I’m _fine_ , babe,” Jackie growls.

“Um-hum.”

Big Red jumps to the rescue. “I’m glad I finally found a buyer, Louise! I bought this stuff years ago, as motivation to lose weight, but—well, I just don’t got the thighs for any of it, no matter what. You’re gonna look great—Zeke won’t keep his hands off ya!”

Her mouth full of salad, Louise nods. She trusts Big Red’s fashion advice, particularly regarding anything sexy; prior to opening Dreamy Skies Dispensary with Jackie, Red was a stripper as well as a jell-o wrestler. Even now, nearing 35, she’s still stunning,. More handsome than pretty, Big Red is shorter than Louise, with the kind of killer curves Louise has always envied.

“Yeah,” Louise sighs, thinking of her latest argument with Zeke.

“I thought you’d be more excited to visit The Pit.” Mudflap raises a brow. “I mean, after the stink you raised this summer…did you really think that pizza delivery shit would work?”

“Honestly, I thought you guys would be drunker,” Louise grumbles, her failure still rankling.

The other women laugh. The One-Eyed Snakes finally built a clubhouse for themselves on the outskirts of Seymore's Bay, and Louise angled for an invitation to one of their parties for months. After all, she repeatedly reminded Critter and Mudflap, they _said_ she was practically their kid—are they going to lock their own daughter out of the house forever? Failing that, she tried various ways to sneak in, including the old pizza delivery schtick. The fact they hired Zeke a few weekends to barbeque while construction was being completed didn’t help her mood.

“Now look, Baby B,” Mudflap says firmly, putting down her can of Dr. Pepper. “Sometimes we got ‘Snakes business, and that’s that. And you’re still just a Soldier, not a Made Associate.”

“I _know_ ,” Louise growls. It’s another sore point with her. She’s worked for Mr. Fischoeder for two years, followed his stupid instructions, accepted his stupid nickname, sold his stupid weed, and she’s stagnated. Zeke was Made before he was eighteen! Of course, he bloodied his boots for that, Mr. Fischoeder really didn’t have a choice, but…Louise isn’t sure if she’s _literally_ willing to kill to move up, but at this point, she isn’t willing to completely discount the possibility either.

“Well, he said he’s goin’ to the party, you can talk to him then. He’s always in a good mood on New Year’s Eve. Just go in with ideas and a plan.”

“Well, maybe I’ll just flash him my tits, it’s what Zeke expects anyway,” Louise mutters.

“What’re ya talking about, girl?”

Louise sets down her fork. “Okay, I gotta ask—is there some dress code or something for this shing-ding?”

“Dress code? Shit, you can show up bare-ass nekkid fer all I care. I mean, you don’t want to, because you’d be cold, but that ain’t none of my business.”

“ _HA!_ I knew he was full of crap!”

“Okay-okay-okay, back up. What’s goin’ on with you two now?”

Louise takes a sip of water, sighs, and tells them the story.

* * * * *

_They were lying in bed together two weeks ago, the room dark and warm, her head pillowed on his chest. Louise was tired and short-tempered with end-of-semester stress, and he drew idle little circles on her shoulder as he imparted what he hoped would be good news._

_“The ‘Snakes are holdin’ a New Years party, and invited us. Do ya wanna go?”_

_She lifted her head to look at him, though of course she could see nothing. “Mudflap and Critter, or the One-Eyed Snakes?”_

_“Gonna be the ‘Snakes, at The Pit.”_

_“Duh! I’ve wanted to see their clubhouse since forever, but Critter wouldn’t let me.”_

_“Yeah, well, now ya git to go. It’s a holiday party, so we all gotta dress up a lil’ bit.”_

_“Well damn, here I was planning on wearing my pjs,” Louise drawled._

_“Now honey, I didn’t mean it like that. Just…everyone dresses up, ya know? And I didn’t want ya to feel underdressed fer the occasion.”_

_“What, do the ‘Snakes pull out top hats and canes and tiaras? Will Tina be jealous because I got to play beer pong with the Queen?”_

_Zeke finds her hand and kisses it. “Babygirl, don’t be like that. Men make sure they’re all cleaned up an’ shit, and the ladies…”_

_“Yes?”_

_“Well, they dress sexy.”_

_Louise bolted up. “They do, do they?”_

_Zeke sat up too. “Honey, you’ll be the sexiest thing there no matter whatcha wear, I just don’t want ya to feel weird, it bein’ yer first party n’ all with lots of other Family members to impress, an’…damn, baby, ya know I like ta show ya off.”_

_She flopped down on her back, her arms crossed. “I’ll go, but I’ll wear what I want.”_

_Zeke lowered himself so he was hovering over her. He began nuzzling her ear. “You sure I can’t talk ya into a li’l something?”_

_Louise turned her head, lengthening her neck. “Gotta do better than that.”_

_He liked where this was going. “What can I do to convince my sweetheart to not wear her gym clothes?”_

_“Gym clothes, you should be so lucky!” Louise gasped as he plucked her nipple._

* * * * *

“You two…” Big Red mutters, shaking her head. 

“Don’t interrupt!” Jane bounces in her chair and waves her hands in an effort to shush her. “This is getting good!”

Jackie shoots her wife a look. “Damn, woman! After last night? And I’m right here, you know.”

Jane offers her a sweet smile and squeezes her hand. “And I’m right here, Boo.”

Louise makes a sick noise, mostly to cover her confusion. Jane often flirts heavily with Louise, whether Jackie is there or not; why does it bother Jackie now?

Mudflap grimaces and puts down her slice of cheese pizza. “Come on, Baby B, some of us are still eatin’. Anyway, what’s your beef?”

“Well, is there a dress code or not?”

“Nah, but it’s a party, an ya wanna look good for yer man, right? And to show them other bitches who’s boss.”

“Oh, I’m the boss even if I pull out my old bunny ears,” Louise says with a dismissive gesture. “But…I mean…looking sexy on demand? For some guy? Really?”

“Well, who you gonna look sexy for, the wallpaper?” Mudflap laughs. “Look, how many times has he asked you to dress up for him?”

“This is the second time.”

“In two years, he’s asked ya twice. Once, for a party where you git a chance to impress folks and upgrade your station in the Family. When was the first?”

Louise fiddles with her water bottle. “Uh, when he took me out for my birthday.”

“See? It ain’t like he’s treating ya like some trophy. He thinks you’re the best, and he wants everyone else to think so too. It ain’t no thing. And yeah, most women do doll themselves up, but you get to decide what’s sexy to you. You know he’ll pant after you the whole night no matter what you pick.”

Louise brightens at that. The idea of choosing her own sexy, to decide what to display and what to cover, helps; when Zeke said _sexy_ , all she could think of was pounds of makeup and sky-high heels and gross displays of T&A, all put out there on his command. But choosing what she wants to display, teasing him with it for hours, making him wait…that has possibilities.

“I know what you mean,” Jane says quietly. “It’s…well, nobody wants to be just a sex object. But he’d dress up for you too, wouldn’t he?”

Louise shoots her friend a broad, mischievous smile. “That’s it, I’m going to make him wear assless chaps!”

Mudflap, who began eating again during this exchange, drops her crust and pushes away her plate. “Okay, I’m done.”

“Girl, nobody wants to think about that man’s hairy ass hanging out all night!” Big Red laughs.

“Why do people call them ‘assless chaps’? They don’t got an ass by definition, that’s what makes ‘em chaps, not pants,” Jackie chuckles, stifling a belch.

“Yep, that’s what I’m doing!” Tears of laughter in her eyes, Louise turns to Jane, who by this point is gasping through a fit of giggles. “Assless chaps and a g-string—for _modesty_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this chapter completely fails the Bechdel Test. What can I say?


	5. FIVE

“Merry Christmas, Tina!”

It’s almost nine o’clock local, and Tina plans to get up early for Boxing Day shopping, but there’s no way she’d miss spending time with her family on Christmas, even across thousands of miles and five time zones. She ate Christmas dinner with other international students at lunchtime, then had a plate of beans on toast for supper. There’s a plate of cookies— _no, biscuits_ , she reminds herself—in front of her with a little tipple. The Belcher family, plus Zeke, are crowded into the left frame of her computer, huddled around Louise’s laptop, while Gene grins broadly on the right side from his apartment in New York.

“Happy Christmas everyone.” Tina smiles at them all, and they grin back, evaporating her holiday loneliness in a flash.

“Where’s your room mates, Tina? I wanted to talk to Emma. And that Duncan guy—he seems nice.”

“Oh, they went to see their families but they’ll be back in a few days,” Tina says as lightly as she can. 

Gene does a double-take. “They left you all alone on Christmas? Bastards!”

“They both invited me along, but I felt kind of weird about it. I spent the afternoon with a bunch of other international students. It was fun.”

She’s not lying…exactly. Feeling a bit bitter and forgotten, she was reticent to go, thinking she’d rather watch telly, eat and drink too many Christmas treats, and wallow in self-pity. Maybe watch the Queen’s Christmas address. (“You won’t stand when they play ‘God Save the Queen,’ will you?” Emma teased before she left for her parent’s place in London.) Eventually Halima, a Ugandan economics student Tina met at the gym, talked her into going. Sitting at a long table next to Halima, and across from Avi, a very handsome and garrulous Israeli archeologist, Tina felt incredibly sophisticated and cosmopolitan. Had the cute Indian guy at the other table stopped staring and smiling and actually _talked to_ her, she would have called it an unqualified success.

Bob’s frown indicates at least one her family members senses the plot holes in her story. 

“I’d feel weird spending the entire day with strangers in their home. And I never get the flat all to myself.”

All the Belchers nod wisely at that one; they lived in each other’s pockets too long to not value a bit of alone time.

“How about you, Gene?” Louise asks.

“Me? I worked all day—this is the city that never sleeps, you know. Lots of tourists. Great tips. And I have an audition after New Year’s to plan for!”

“Hot damn!” Zeke cheers.

“Yeah, well, it’s so off-off Broadway it’s practically back in New Jersey, but I’ll take it.”

The Belcher’s side of the screen is loud with excited babbling. Linda, always Gene’s biggest fan, declares she’ll be there for all of his performances.

“Not—not all of them, right Lin?”

“All of them, Bob! My Genie-beanie’s gonna be a big star!”

“We could fly to New York, babygirl. My treat!”

“You don’t have to do that, Zeke.”

Tina shares a sympathetic glance with her brother, who clearly wishes he’d never brought up the subject, and decides to rescue him.

“Does everyone have their crackers?”

That does it. None of them have popped Christmas crackers before—Tina herself hadn’t until that afternoon—and everyone turns to her for help while Linda passes around the crackers Tina sent over.

“Okay. So, take a cracker in your right hand. Everyone forms a circle, and—"

“Why don’t we just pair off?” Zeke suggests.

“I don’t have a pair!” Gene protests.

Bob’s mustache twitches. Beside him, Zeke guffaws, and Louise cackles with laughter. “Gene, I think you have a pair.”

“Oh my God,” Gene groans.

Bob and Linda pair off, and Zeke and Louise pair off. Gene and Tina each grab the tails of their crackers in both hands. 

Tina clears her throat. “Fine. Pair off, whatever. So, at the count of three—”

“ _On_ three, or—" Louise drawls.

“Oh my God, it’s not that difficult!” Tina glares at her little sister, too late realizing Louise was trolling her. “One! Two! Three! Pull!”

Four distinctive pops. Tina smiles as candy (no, _sweets_ ), paper crowns, cheap little toys and slips of paper flutter around them.

“Neat!” Louise exclaims, unfolding the yellow paper crown from her and Zeke’s cracker and plonking it on her head.

“Well, the person with the most cracker in their hand gets the—” Tina tries to explain, but nobody’s listening to her.

“Here’s a little Christmas cheer, Bob—”

“No Lin, you—fine.” He surrenders to his wife, allowing her to place the pink paper crown on his head. He would have preferred the mini chocolate Santa, but Linda, determined to make Christmas the sweetest of cheat days, shoved it in her mouth almost before she unwrapped it.

“Well, lookie here, a joke.” Zeke picks the little slip of paper off his lap and slowly reads it aloud: “ _What kind of motorbike_ —wait, that’s a motorcycle, ain’t it, T-Bird?”

“Uh-huh. Go on.”

“ _What kind of motorbike does Santa ride? A Holly Davidson!_ ”

There’s a collective, international groan, which Zeke joins a beat behind the others. “ _Ohhhh_ , that’s funny. I gotta save that fer Mudflap n’ Critter.”

Bob grunts; Tina knows he’s still a little salty because the bikers knew about Zeke and Louise and said nothing about it. While glad her father’s no longer angry at _her_ , Tina thinks his lingering irritation is a bit much. After all, these are the people who talked about cooking meth around kids. They aren’t exactly wholesome, PTA material.

Conversation is warm and brisk, and Tina, fresh from weeping over the _Call the Midwife_ Christmas special, finds herself in better spirits by the end of it. Tired and stuffed full of Scottish shortbread—because Duncan, who bakes away his stress, insisted she celebrate with a bit of the Highlands—Tina drops out first.

* * * * *

Gene keeps the family amused with stories of his Big Apple adventures. He turns his failed auditions into comedy routines, and tells them about the time he’s _sure_ he glimpsed Richard Lewis leaving his restaurant.

“He does that nervous shrugging thing in real life, too!”

“Aw, it’s a shame you didn’t get to serve him,” Linda coos. “I know he would’ve loved you and given you a big contract on the spot!”

“I wish!” Gene chuckles.

“Well, you’re _my_ star, and it’s just a matter of time before everyone sees how talented my boy is,” Linda announces firmly.

“Damn straight, woman! Speaking of talented, aren’t Jessica and Rudy in town, Louise?”

Louise startles a little, not expecting the clunky subject change. “Uh, no. Rudy decided to stay on campus for some robotics thing, and Jessica is skiing in Colorado with her cousins. They _definitely aren’t_ avoiding each other,” she adds with an eyeroll.

“Oh, yeah.” 

Gene remembers now. Louise filled him in a while back, how Rudy wanted to do a long-distance thing, and Jessica wanted to break up. Jess won, of course, but the last bit of summer vacation was awkward as hell, according to Louise. Rudy pined with puppy eyes, which irritated Jessica, who apparently expected to go from lovers to friends virtually overnight. The former couple were barely even talking by the time Rudy left for Texas and Jessica flew out to Oregon. _And I’m staying out of it_ , Louise assured him.

“So, what are you two doing during Christmas break?” Gene waggles his brows at his sister and her boyfriend, earning a groan from their father.

“I’m a workin’ man, Gene, I don’t get no Christmas break. Ya know how it goes.”

“I’m a working man too, Gene.”

“Oh yeah, you’re a waitress at Dusty’s. Mmm…those pickle nickels are the _bomb!_ ” Gene can all but taste them now, dill pickle chips coated with a cornbread crust and fried, served piping hot with ranch dressing. His mouth waters at the memory.

“I’m a hostess—”

“With the most-ess!” Zeke finishes.

“I’ve almost filled a whole notebook with things they’re doing wrong, and I’ve barely been there a week!”

Gene notices a look flash between Zeke and Bob. 

“Well, broadening your experiences will help here,” Bob says carefully, “But—”

“I have about _a million_ ideas how they can do things better, and the customers suck, but it’d be fine if I didn’t have to work with Little Miss Perfect.”

Gene doesn’t really listen to his sister complain about Brooke’s latest transgression, something about “ratting her out” because Louise took an extra five minutes on her break; it’s typical restaurant drama, he’s seen worse. He does, however, watch Zeke’s face as she rants. _Now there’s trouble in paradise._

Gene likes Zeke, and admires both his courage and tenacity—God knows any man who dates his baby sister needs both—but he has to wonder…how does Zeke feel about Louise treating his workplace like she’s a 19th century anthropologist documenting the quaint traditions of savage natives?

* * * * *

Louise hovers in the bedroom doorway. Her feet are bare and her hair tumbles around her shoulders. She clutches her new robe tightly. Zeke started his nightly exercises while she prepared for bed. It’s always the same, just a quick little workout, and he ends with push-ups. He’s wearing sweatpants but no shirt, and Louise bites her lip as she watches his shoulder and back muscles ripple as he completes his first ten. She waits until he’s taking a rest before softly coughing.

“Hey, babygirl. Donchoo look nice in yer new robe.”

It’s a gift from her parents, black velour with satin trim. She knows she should’ve washed it before wearing it, but she couldn’t resist. Louise places a three-wick, cinnamon-scented candle on the dresser and lights it. She turns off the overhead lights. She’s reminded of the time years ago when Zeke tried similar tricks to make the basement he rented look romantic. This attempt is far more successful; Zeke fashioned a love-den for them, and the candle completes the mood.

Louise sits on the bed and crosses her coltish legs, excitement bubbling as Zeke’s eyes follow her bare skin from her ankles to where her robe crosses at her thighs.

“Think I’ve done ‘nough fer tonight.”

Zeke moves to get up, but Louise reaches out and taps him on the shoulder with her long toes. “Finish your pushups,” she says softly.

“I can think of better ways to do ‘em.”

She presses down. “Finish. Your. Pushups.”

Five one-armed push-ups on the right…five one-armed push-ups on the left…then ten more with both arms, to finish. He doesn’t look up at her, committed to maintaining proper form, but Louise knows he feels her watching him, admiring him, wanting him. He’s showing off for her, and Louise is a very appreciative audience.

Zeke rocks to his knees. His eyes never leave hers as he crawls the short distance to the bed. Louise leans back, her weight supported by one hand, the other idly fiddling with the tie of her robe. She hisses softly as his wide hands ghost her legs.

“Ya like what ya see, baby?” His voice is a deep rumble.

“You’ve earned your other present.”

“Mmm?”

She shoos him back. Zeke stands and watches as Louise slides off the bed to her feet. Her fingers work at the knot at her waist but Zeke clamps his hands over them.

“Don’t unwrap a man’s present.”

She raises her brows and holds her hands up in surrender. Zeke unties the belt. He slips his fingers under her robe, over her shoulders, and lets it drop to her feet.

Louise has occasionally treated the both of them to fancy lingerie; she never doubted Zeke would like it, but is still astonished by the effect something so hyper-girly has on her. Standing before him in a wine-colored teddy of slippery satin and soft lace, she feels like the sexy present, the precious gift, he always says she is.

Zeke makes to caress her but hesitates, as if he doesn’t dare touch something so fine. Louise runs her hands over his shoulders, and Zeke can’t resist; he grabs her and kisses her with such depth, such meaning, that Louise is left trembling, weak-kneed, when he finally pulls back enough to rest his forehead against hers.

He traces the lace on her breast with a rough, calloused finger, his touch so achingly gentle Louise moans. 

“All fer me, honey?”

Her hands are at his waistband. She pulls him along with her as she backs up to the bed. 

“Never doubt it,” she breathes.


	6. SIX

Stepping out of the store and into the warm mall, Tina exits Top Shop with two new jumpers and a firm resolve to stop eating so damn much; she’s gained ten pounds—almost a full stone—since she moved to England. She can’t help it; she’s a stressed student who tends to eat her feelings in the best of times. When she’s not scoffing plates of KFC—a weird choice, as Gene’s the fried chicken fan in the family, but it’s close to campus and tastes like home—she’s inhaling “exotic” delicacies like bacon butties and greasy kebabs and trifles washed down with cups of Squash. Well, she’s going to have to learn to resist, because she’s almost at the point where she’s going to have to go up a size. She _will_ lose the weight, starting… _now!_

Her resolve lasts all of twenty seconds.

Ed’s Easy Diner is directly across from Top Shop, and fragrances the air with the smells of her youth; sizzling burgers and plates of hot French fries, a lingering tang of mustard and ketchup. Clearly inspired by 1950’s Americana, the floor is a bold black-and-white check, the seats are cherry red, and the fixtures gleam like fresh-polished chrome bumpers.

_It’s just four days ‘till New Years_ , _I’ll definitely start then,_ she assures herself.

Tina’s one of the first customers of the day, so it isn’t at all crowded, but her face is hot as she takes a seat at one of the stools at the bar, subconsciously taking the spot that’s Teddy’s at her dad’s restaurant. She pulls her knit hat off her wild hair and stuffs it in the pocket of her coat, which she drapes over the back of the stool. She pulls the menu close to her face and pretends to read it, hoping the catty-looking teenage girls who rubber-necked at her American accent aren’t staring at her.

Tina’s grand British adventure hasn’t been everything she expected. She’s smart, and she published in a respected journal, but she’s at school with brilliant people who’ve written papers for much bigger publications. She’s reasonably attractive and has made plenty of friends—she’s particularly fortunate in her flat mates, whom she didn’t meet until she showed up at their doorstep. Still, Tina can’t escape the feeling that she should have taken the university by storm, ought to be more popular, brighter, than she actually is. No matter what she does, what kind of pep-talks she gives herself, Tina can’t shake a sense of imposter syndrome; any moment now, she’s going to reveal herself as the awkward, ignorant daughter of working-class parents that she is, she knows it. 

Looking over the menu and trying to translate pounds and pence to dollars and cents—Mathy Cathy’s no help here—Tina also can’t shake the feeling that Louise was right, at least a little bit, about Tina viewing Great Britain as one big Shakespearean/Austinian/Harry Potter theme park, and not an actual, modern country. Always charmed by anything she considers exotic, Tina can argue the finer points of _Upstairs Downstairs_ with the best of fans, but constantly finds herself flummoxed by the basics of everyday life in her new home. 

Tina orders herself to snap out of it; she’s at a fun, 50’s-themed restaurant, she has two cute new sweaters— _They’re jumpers, Tina!_—and hey: she’s only been in the country six months. She’s made loads of progress adapting to her new home (though Duncan will never let Tina forget that she thought “taking the mickey” was a drug reference). Who knows where she’ll be in another six months?

Something soft and bulky bumps her shoulder.

“Oh, sorry!”

Tina looks up. A tall, lean Indian, with longish hair and a blushing face clutches his black coat tightly. Their eyes meet, and Tina smiles: she recognizes him.

“Hey, you were at the student lunch yesterday,” Tina declares.

“Uh, yeah. Right.” He blushes even deeper. Tina notes the shy smile and, with a happy flutter, instantly realizes he didn’t bump her shoulder by accident. 

“We didn’t get a chance to meet,” she says, glossing over the fact there was plenty of time to meet, but he just stared at her instead. “I’m Tina Belcher. I’m working on my post-grad in English lit.”

“Siddharth Khan. But I go by Sid.”

They shake hands.

Sid narrows his eyes slightly. “Wait a...are you T.R. Belcher?”

Her heart leaping, suspecting where this is going, Tina nods.

“I read your paper in the JAS Journal,”

“Really?”

He nods vigorously, shyness forgotten. “I’m working on my doctorate in modern British history, emphasizing Georgian class structure. The Jane Austen Society’s journal is one of my favorites. Great stuff, there.”

It’s Tina’s turn to blush. Now that he’s standing closer to her, she can see how handsome Sid is. Soft dark curls tumble over a high forehead, and his eyes are lively, a rich, chocolaty shade of brown. His smile—his real smile, not the nervous grimace he tries to pass of as a smile—is charmingly crooked.

“Hey, why don’t you join me? I mean, if you aren’t waiting for friends or something,” Tina adds hastily.

“On one condition.”

“Yeah?”

“You let me treat you to a Nutella shake.”

* * * * *

Zeke gives the bathroom mirror a final once-over with a microfiber towel and steps back to admire his work: perfect. He laughs a little to himself—he’s never seen anyone splash a mirror the way Louise does, especially when she’s in a hurry. She tried to wipe it up before she ran out the door this morning to her parent’s restaurant, but all she did was leave messy streaks, and Zeke sure hates a dirty mirror.

It’s his day off, today’s bathroom and kitchen cleaning day, and he’s determined to use his time well. So, after his morning workout, he set out to clean up the place.

Housecleaning was one of the things he and Grandma June bonded over. She was a fastidious housekeeper, though she did insist on decorating the place with lacy curtains and doilies and fussy little knick-knacks. A naturally tidy child, Zeke took well to her cleaning lessons. His mother’s housekeeping was indifferent, one of the first things to go when she was on a bender, and even at its best, it did little against the fresh mouse turds they found in the kitchen every morning, or “surprise” roaches lurking in every cabinet.

Zeke is very proud of the apartment he’s assembled, the furniture more plentiful and nicer than he would have bought for just himself. All it needs now is proper decoration, but Louise will take care of all that once she finally moves in with him. Not that he _couldn’t_ do it himself—it’s the 21st century, Zeke reckons a man can care about paint colors and window treatments if he likes. But ladies _like_ doing shit like that. Hell, even Mudflap has irritated Critter more than once by running up their credit card during the Halloween season buying spooky candle holders and glass skulls and whatnot. No, once Louise moves in, she’ll make this a proper home, with scented candles and throw pillows and decorative rugs and all the other things ladies think are necessary to make a house a home. Zeke can’t wait to good-humoredly grumble with Critter about all the money their women are spending on funny crap like that.

“Happy wife, happy life,” Critter likes to mutter into his beer when Mudflap puts her foot down on some silly rule, like not using the good company towels for cleaning up oil spills in the garage.

Zeke nods to himself as he moves on to the kitchen and begins scrubbing the sink. He and Louise aren’t married— _yet_ —but he intends to begin as he means to go on. A happy Louise will stay with him. He’s done a good job so far, guided mostly by Critter’s old advice of finding a woman he likes and respects, treating her like a person, and giving her lots of good beer, weed, and sex, though he’s replaced presents with beer, as Louise isn’t a drinker.

He damn near blew it last month, getting drunk and babbling like a fool about his upbringing with his mother. Standing in a patch of bright but cold winter sunlight in front of his kitchen window, Zeke could punch himself in the face. He never meant to tell her that shit! Louise hasn’t brought it up, and neither has he, but Zeke knows that if _he_ remembers, then _she_ must too. What the fuck was he thinking, letting Drunk Zeke ramble on like that? She already knew enough about his background; there was no need to confirm his trash roots.

Then, like a total self-sabotaging dipshit, he invited her over to his dad’s for Thanksgiving and Christmas breakfasts. Thanksgiving wasn’t so bad; they went to Cracker Barrel and had a nice meal, just the three of them. But by Christmas Big Tony had a lady friend, and she, her three children, Zeke, and Louise crowded into Dad’s small kitchen for bagels and eggs. It was loud and weird and embarrassing—but not in the pleasantly loving, eccentric way the Belchers are loud and weird and embarrassing. No, this was _horrible_. The two teens argued and sniped at each other the entire time, the tween answered any question in burps, and Big Tony and what’s-her-name were too wrapped up in each other to notice. Louise didn’t complain; she met his pained gaze with laughing eyes while they were there, and later joked about introducing Gene to the burping kid as a mentor. Zeke laughed along, because what else could he do, but he was secretly mortified.

Finished with the sink, Zeke tackles the kitchen counters, his heavy brow furrowed with unhappy thoughts.

Louise is so pretty, so far ahead of him in class, education, and…well, everything. He knows he oughtn’t pay attention to anything Jimmy Junior says, but now that he called Zeke’s attention to it, Zeke can’t help noticing the way a number of her guy friends and customers look at her. Some of those guys are handsome bastards, and as smart as Louise—they could be doctors or lawyers. Hell, _Louise_ could be a doctor or lawyer, if she wanted to go that route! What’s she doing with an ignorant lunkhead like him? By his own estimation, Zeke’s good at fightin’, fuckin’, and cookin’, and that’s about it—she hasn’t noticed only because he’s charmin’, too.

_Wait a minute!_

Zeke pauses, the sponge held mid-air, as a brilliant idea floods hope in his veins. He already decided to propose on Louise’s 21st birthday. She’ll be a fully paid-up adult, finished with her education, and won’t Grandma June’s engagement ring—bequeathed to him in her will, currently in a lock-box at Ocean Avenue’s bank—look fine on her hand, once it’s sized up to fit her big finger! But why wait until then? Why can’t he hurry things along a little bit—hell, why _shouldn’t_ he hurry things along a little bit? All he needs to do is marry her before she realizes he’s not much of a catch for a gal like her! And if she cottons on after they’re married…well, they’ll already be married, she’ll have every motivation to work through things then. 

Grinning to himself, Zeke scrubs the counter, the logic of his plan gaining strength. He’ll work harder than ever to show her how well he can provide for her, sweep her off her feet with the bullish strength she finds so sexy, and then…and then…

Who knows? That ring might be on her finger this time next year!

Zeke pauses the sponge, imagining Louise’s joy, her parent’s happy tears. Louise will make their apartment a home, and she’ll make him the proper family man he’s always wanted to be. It’ll all turn out right in the end, he knows it.


	7. SEVEN

Louise taps her company ID number into the time clock. _Aaaand…done!_

Her shoulders instantly drop back into place, and she was totally unaware she was clenching her jaw until she feels it loosen. Funny, how the simple act of clocking out for the day makes all the tension just ooze out of her. Time to party!

She wasn’t able to take the entire day off, unlike Zeke, the lucky bastard, who at least is coming to pick her up. Still, she’s able to leave at five, which is pretty early for New Year’s Eve. Jim waves at her from the grill where he’s searing steaks.

“Stay safe out there!”

Jim’s already started celebrating from the sound of it. She waves back cheerfully.

“Will do. You too!”

Louise threads her way through the dining area. It’s not packed, but it’s busy with young families, so there’s lots of screeching kids and crying babies. 

“Happy New Year’s, Hannah,” Louise says as she passes the hostess podium.

“You too!” 

Hannah’s eyes are bright, and Louise knows why; it took him almost two weeks of awkward, non-stop flirting, but Nate apparently got enough stones to ask her to a party tonight.

“Kids,” Louise smirks.

She steps outside and shivers. The air is cold but dry, the pavement frosted over with a crust of salt that glitters under the street lamps. She spots Zeke leaning up against his truck, speaking animatedly to a group of employees who either clocked out for the day or are on break. Brooke is there, looking infuriatingly beautiful and fresh for someone who just finished a busy shift. She laughs at something Zeke says and playfully slaps his arm. Even at a distance Louise recognizes the flirty head-tilt, sees the way Brooke beams at Zeke. 

“ _This bitch_ ,” Louise growls under her breath, vowing a slow, painful death for both of them.

Zeke’s smile freezes a little bit and he takes a half-step back. Louise decides to let him live.

Steven the dishwasher, a blonde surfer type, spots her first. He nods in greeting, grinding the butt of his cigarette under his heel. “Hey, man. It’s a total shit-show in there, ain’t it?”

Louise shrugs; she’s done for the day, it’s not her mess so she doesn’t really care, but of course she can’t say that. “The dish pit looked good. I think Jim’s gonna have a mess for you, though.”

“He always does, dude,” Steven laughs.

Zeke grins at her with…is that relief? Louise is pleased to see he’s wearing the merino wool scarf and leather gloves she bought him for Christmas. Try as she might, Louise is a bad gift giver, she knows it, which makes his constant stream of perfect presents even worse. She thinks of the new belly ring he bought her and could slap herself; a scarf and gloves, what was she thinking?

“Hey Louise, you ready?”

_Louise?_

Since when is she just _Louise?_

Wordlessly, she brushes past Brooke and pecks his cheek. “Sure am. The party starts at nine, right?”

Zeke blinks at her as she slips her arm behind him and tucks her hand into his back pocket. Louise is rarely this demonstrative in public. And the vibe she’s giving off…radiating…

Then he sees Brooke’s face, the emotions rapidly flitting across it; annoyance and anger, finally comprehension, followed close on the heel of embarrassment. Everything falls into place, and Zeke’s not sure if he should be thrilled or terrified.

Steven catches none of it. “Oh, I didn’t know you two have a thing.”

Zeke opens his mouth—to say what, he’s not sure—but Louise cuts him off.

“We’ve been dating for two years.”

Louise makes no effort to affect a poker-face. She openly smirks triumphantly at Brooke, who has enough sense to retreat, muttering something about having to go home and prep for a date.

Zeke wraps an arm around her. “We try to keep it professional at work.”

“But we’re off work now, so…”

After exchanging wishes for a happy new year with everyone, Zeke helps Louise into the truck as always. They aren’t even out of the parking lot before Louise begins stroking his thigh.

“Well damn, baby, what’s got inta you?”

“Oh, so _now_ I’m baby? Not just _Louise_?”

Zeke chuckles uncomfortably. “Now honey, I was tryin’ ta play it cool. We weren’t on the clock but—”

He breaks off with a hiss and shifts in his seat; Louise’s fingers are climbing higher now.

“Damn it woman, one day yer gonna make me slam inna tree!”

“Wood slams into me all the time, you don’t hear me complaining.”

Zeke downshifts as they come to a stop at the light.

“Maybe it’s your reminder,” she purrs.

“Do whut?”

“Keep stepping away from the skanks. I saw her flirting with you.”

Zeke groans as her hand retreats—she was _so close!_

“Whut? You mean—aw, Brooke was just testin’ the waters. It don’t mean nuthin.”

Louise crosses her arms over her chest and glowers at him. “Bullshit! She started flirting with you day one!”

She affects a burlesque of feminine flirting, grinning too broadly and flapping her eyelashes. “Oh, Zeke, you’re from Alabama, and so’s my meemaw! It’s meant to _beeeeee_.”

The light turns, and Zeke’s attention is on the road. “I…well, she just started flirtin’ today. I didn’t notice nuthin before. Woulda shut that down if I did.”

“Oh my God,” Louise breathes. “Seriously?”

“Well yeah,” he says, hoping she’ll buy the lie. “I thought she was just bein’ friendly, then she tried that playful slappin’ thing…”

Louise snorts with derisive laughter, and his grip on the steering wheel loosens. Okay, he honestly didn’t notice Brooke’s flirting, at first—he really thought she was just being friendly! But then he _did_ start to notice the brightness of her smile, the lingering glances, the way she seemed to always be around him. After thinking it over, he decided to do nothing, say nothing, until she forced the issue; as both an individual and a professional, ignoring her flirtation until he had to deal with it seemed like the best plan.

“Well, you finally figured it out, and I saw you turn her down. That’s the only reason you’re still breathing, pal.” Fury, happiness and…she’s not sure what else is stirring in there, but Louise is possessed by an overwhelming need to show him who and what she is, to mark her territory. 

Louise waits until he closes the apartment door behind them. She grabs Zeke by the collar and pins him to the wall. Her kiss is demanding, relentless, and soon they’re grinding against each other, still in coats and boots, Zeke’s hands kneading her ass, Louise’s hands still on his collar, her grip almost choking. Louise pulls back with a gasp and pushes aside his scarf so she can nip at his neck.

“Ain’t got no reason ta be jealous—”

A quick pop across the cheek cuts him off.

“I can’t be jealous over what’s mine.” Louise’s gaze is a conflagration of determination, fury, lust, and Zeke would happily jump onto the pyre. 

Her eyes never leave his as she slowly lowers herself to her knees, her fingers at work on his buckle and fly.

Zeke moans, his head falling back to the wall. Louise isn’t shy about oral sex; hell, she gave him some damn fine head their first time together. Still, she’s disinclined to take such a submissive posture when she’s doing it—Louise kneeling before him, with Zeke looming over her, is a treat for him, and she knows it. He winds his hands in her hair.

“I’m going to remind you of a few things,” Louise purrs. “Then later tonight, you’re gonna show me how well you learned your lesson.”

“Yes ma’am,” Zeke groans, as if he has a choice.

* * * * *

Zeke grunted a little when Louise slapped her alarm and rolled out of bed, but doesn’t wake up until he hears the shower running in the other room. He cracks an eye open and checks his phone; they’ll make it there by ten, half-past at the latest. Zeke takes a moment for a good stretch, grinning goofily at the dark ceiling; Louise Belcher damn near sucked the life out of him, and God help him, that sounds like the best way to go out. Afterwards, she kissed him and let him cuddle her, but, true to her word, she slapped any hand that dared to creep in a personal zone.

_“After the party,” she told him sternly, and Zeke, too tired and blissed-out to argue, could do nothing but take a nap._

Zeke turns on the light and slips into t-shirt and sweatpants, then finds some fresh clothes. After Louise is done with the bathroom, it will be his turn.

Louise eventually emerges in a cloud of surgery vanilla vapor, wrapped in her new black robe. Her hair is piled high on her head and her feet are bare. She shoos him out of the bedroom.

“Give me…twenty-to-thirty minutes. No peeking!”

Zeke has to chuckle. He could easily roll from bed to truck in ten minutes if he had to. “Better make yerself worth my time, woman.”

“I bought a unicorn onesie just for the occasion,” she laughs, and shuts the door in his face.

Twenty minutes later Zeke’s showered and dressed, sitting on the couch and waiting for Louise. He’s almost as excited as she is; Zeke’s never had trouble attracting women, though he’s had few proper girlfriends. He introduced most of them to Mudflap and Critter, but Zeke never took them to ‘Snake’s parties, or ever considered introducing them to the Fischoeder Family. Now, for the first time, he can combine his personal and professional lives, and how proud will he be to show off the fine woman destined to become Mrs. Smythe! She’s as tough and ruthless and amoral as any of them, and easy on the eyes, too; all the other Associates will envy him, especially the Enforcers. Young, macho-driven men, Enforcers—especially heavy-fisted Goons like Zeke—play a constant game of dominance, and a high-quality woman gives a man an edge. 

As if sensing his thoughts, Louise cracks the door open. “Are you ready?”

“Just need my coat, darlin’. Lemme git a look atcha.”

His brain fries a bit as he looks up at her. She tosses her hair as she strides out of the room. Light, strategic makeup enhances her large eyes and full lips. She wears a long-sleeved, fuzzy beige sweater with a wide, deep v-neck. It’s cropped and rushed at the center of the bust, displaying a long expanse of smooth abdomen. Plain, low-heeled wedge boots enhance her height, but it’s the lace-up trousers that are the star of the show. Made of a thick satiny material, they’re low rise, tight, and they lace up the crotch as well as the front of the legs, exposing a two-inch wide strip of flesh from ankle to waist. Louise pairs them with satin panties he’s sure he hasn’t seen before, but of course he recognizes the jewelry, because he’s the one who bought it for her. The gold hoops in her ears, the twinkling nose ring, the THC molecule necklace encircling her throat…bangles dance on her wrist, but he can’t stop staring at her belly.

He bought her a belly ring for Christmas, gold of course, studded with diamonds at the ends of the barbell, with a little marijuana leaf spangled with tiny emeralds dangling against her lower abdomen. Zeke watches it tremble with her breathing; he never knew he had a thing for belly piercings until Louise got one.

Louise reaches a finger under his chin and pushes his jaw up. “You’ll catch flies if you stay like that.”

Zeke laughs and runs a hand over his hair. It’s exactly the sort of thing Grandma June used to say. She takes his hand and helps him to his feet. He tries to pull her close, to kiss her, but Louise steps out of range.

“Uh-uh, mister. Not ‘till midnight.”

Zeke crosses his arms. “Now darlin’, you mean to tell me ya plan on walkin’ around lookin’ like a snack an’ I don’t git a nibble?”

Louise raises a brow and smirks. “That’s _exactly_ what I’m telling you.”

**Author's Note:**

> This particular story has been SO HARD TO WRITE! I don't know why. Anyway, I'm in far enough I feel comfortable posting. If it shapes up quickly enough, I might post every Thursday.


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